


Rupture

by devovitsuasartes



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovitsuasartes/pseuds/devovitsuasartes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after Agron leaves with Crixus, Nasir asks Gannicus to cut his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In his former life, Nasir had frequently been accused of vanity. His fellow slaves, favored beneath him and accordingly jealous, would tease him as they rubbed scented oil into his skin and hair to prepare him for his Dominus - the women often telling him that he was more beautiful than even they, that it was little wonder Dominus could not resist him. Nasir had been told such things ever since he had become a slave as a young boy. Had he not been so beautiful, he might have been a common house slave or far worse. Yet his smooth, exotic skin and thick hair made him a rare prize and granted him elevated status.

That was what beauty had come to mean for Nasir. He grew to love feeling groomed and handsome, not for the qualities themselves, but for the power that they wielded. He had known that he was too small to ever fight for his freedom with blood and steel, but by way of proper preparation, the right gaze through lowered eyelashes, and softly whispered words he could buy himself a life far more comfortable than that of most slaves.

Such accusations of vanity had followed him even after he was liberated by Spartacus, and learned that fighting with steel was not so impossible as he had once imagined. The other freed slaves affectionately called him "Agron's boy," and he was subject to frequent comments, both direct and overheard, about how the gods spared him in battle only because they could not bear to part the world from such beauty. 

Little wonder, then, that Gannicus hesitated now with the knife.

'I fear Agron will have my head, should he return and discover such a crime,' he joked.

'Should Agron return,' Nasir responded, his voice strained, 'I have doubt he would even notice.'

Gannicus snorted. He wasn't entirely sober, but Nasir would fain put up with concerned or sympathetic words, and he thought that Gannicus could be trusted to offer neither. It seemed, however, that hope of seeing this task performed shy of conversation had been vain.

'This is born of a wounded heart, then? 'Tis a shame I am not a poet, to record such tragedy,' he said, but nonetheless sharpened the knife a few more times on the whetstone, and then set to work. The keen edge of the weapon sliced away a swathe of hair from the back of Nasir's head in one clean stroke, and he felt it kiss the bare skin of his back as it tumbled to the floor. Gannicus fell silent for a time, apparently satisfied to watch Nasir's locks parted from his head under the blade. It took longer than Nasir had expected - longer still because Gannicus would occasionally pause to take a swig of drink.

'If you slice off my ear in your soddenness, I shall slice off your nose,' Nasir warned the former gladiator, who merely laughed in response.

Nasir felt cool air all around his neck, and realised that most of his hair was now removed from his head. Gannicus whistled tunelessly, dipped the blade in oil to lubricate it, and began stroking it across Nasir's scalp in smooth strokes. Nasir closed his eyes. He expected to feel something - sadness, loss, mourning, anger - but such emotions had settled so deeply in his breast that he could no longer feel them - only a deadened part of himself where he knew they resided.

Finally Gannicus stepped back, set the knife aside, and folded his arms proudly. There were no mirrors in the camp, and Nasir found his fingers itching until he could no longer hold back his curiosity, and smoothed both hands back over his head. 

'I bid you take it all off,' he said sharply.

'A thousand apologies, Dominus,' Gannicus drawled in amusement. 'I sought only to leave a little something for us to recognise you by.'

Nasir sighed. Gannicus had shaved the sides of his head smooth, but left behind short strands down the middle, all the way from Nasir's forehead to the nape of his neck. He smoothed the remaining hair back with the oily residue, and decided that it wasn't worth threatening Gannicus into picking up the knife again. Nasir's greatest vanity lay scattered across the floor in inky curls, and his scalp felt raw and vulnerable, like an open wound.

He gathered the hair up in the fist of one hand, crushing it under strong fingers, and left the tent with the intention to give it to the children who had been tasked with making bedding. Nasir's useless beauty could stuff some poor former slave's pillow, and finally be of use. 

* * *

 

Every night Nasir slept in bedding that still smelled like Agron. He breathed it in deep - a reminder of the fact that despite all the love and beauty and he pleasure he had offered up, he had been found wanting...

No. That lay blame undeservedly at Agron's door. Nasir remembered how secretly thrilled he had been at Agron's burst of jealousy, and the passion it revealed. In an unconscious effort to bring forth that passion again, he had not shied away the Cilacian pirate's eager gazes, and perhaps had even returned one or two. He had known exactly what he was doing, and his isolation was deserved punishment...

No. He had never once touched Castus in passion. Would have shunned the pirate entirely, had Agron begged his faithfulness rather than accuse him of having none. It was Agron who had left, who had spurned Nasir in favor of battle - all because Nasir had done nothing but refuse to let another man own him.

His anger vacillated back and forth, its target first Agron, then Crixus and his damned campaign, then Castus and his tempting gazes, and finally Nasir himself. It drove him out of his tent, into scouting missions, and into skirmishes with Romans where he fought with a fervor more reckless and deadly than ever before. He killed in greater numbers, and gathered wounds accordingly: bruised bones and long slices up his arms and legs and sides.

During one such fight, a Roman snagged his fingers in one of the leather thongs around Nasir's neck and yanked, choking him. After dispatching of the soldier, Nasir tore all adornments from around his neck and dropped them carelessly to the earth as he walked back to the encampment. For whose purpose was such decoration now? 

If Spartacus or the others noticed his changed demeanor, they did not comment on it. There were always other matters of concern, after all, and Nasir was not hot-headed like Crixus or unreliable like Gannicus. If he fought a little harder and paid less heed to blows aimed his way, others were too preoccupied to notice. And so it was that one day Nasir failed to spring back from a wild gladius swing in time, and the blade sliced shallowly through both his lips.

Nasir grinned wildly, feeling the flesh of his mouth tear a little more as he did so, and stabbed his spear through the offending Roman's eye. When the fight was done, Lugo jokingly bemoaned the marring of "Agron's boy's" pretty face, but Nasir was glad of the damage. It felt good to know that these lips, which would surely never touch Agron's again, were ruined. With his shorn head, scarred body, and damaged face, Nasir would never be mistaken for body slave nor prized lover again. 


	2. Chapter 2

Nasir was taking a break from a long day of attempting to turn fearful, cowed slaves into warriors for the cause. It was no easy task, and he could not help but wonder if he himself had been so hopeless when Spartacus had first taken it upon himself to train an ungrateful body slave. Surely he had not been so clumsy of foot? At the very least, he had never dropped his sword outright.

He was chewing on hard bread, the motion pulling at the still-healing flesh of his mouth, when a shadow fell over him. Nasir looked up, his face setting in a hard glare as he realised that it was Castus standing over him, holding out a dripping flagon.

'Bread is dry,' the pirate said in his slow, warm voice, his mouth curving into a lazy half-smile. 'Wine will ease its way.'

'I have no want of your wine,' Nasir replied coldly.

Castus raised an eyebrow, and then settled down on the ground next to Nasir. 'Then I will drink for both of us, brother.' He proceeded with proclaimed task, and though Nasir refused to meet the Cilacian's gaze, he could sense eyes watching his lips as he chewed.

'Are there not prettier prospects to survey in this wretched encampment?' he demanded at last.

'None that hold my attention so well as you,' Castus replied, his voice sincere.

Nasir scoffed. 'I am no more worthy of your attention than Lugo now.'

It was Castus' turn to make a disbelieving noise. 'You think your beauty gone with your locks? You think broken mouth any less entrancing than when it was whole?' He reached out and grabbed Nasir's chin gently, turning his head until the Syrian was forced to meet his gaze. 'Permit me to prove you wrong.'

Nasir jerked his face from the handsome pirate's grasp and snarled. 'Have you not done damage enough?'

'You mean your great gladiator turning from you?' Castus said, not unkindly. 'You would hold me accountable for his unsure grip, that allowed you so easily to slip away?'

'He saw your eyes upon me! My eyes upon you...'

'And he did not fight fiercer than a tiger to keep you, as I would have done.' Castus smiled sorrowfully. 'I would forswear the ocean herself to make you my own. I would battle every man in this army, to prove my worth to you. Yet Agron leaves at first perceived insult. Your pain is wasted on such a man.'

'He is better man than any in this army, and need not battle them all to prove it,' Nasir asserted, his face burning. 

Castus searched his face, then sighed, a deep melancholy in it. 'He still holds your heart. Even now.'

Nasir did not deny it.

'Is that why you seek to ruin your looks, little Syrian? As tribute? As penance? Should you wish to be thoroughly ruined...' Castus braved lifting his hand to caress Nasir's cheek. 'You need only ask.'

For a moment, temptation roared through Nasir. He wished to drag meddlesome pirate to his tent, strip him bare and ride him, and imagine in every moment that Agron was watching in impotent anguish. He wanted to kiss Castus, to finally rid his lips of the ghost of Agron's taste. He wished to be wrecked and spoiled - become a wanton whore instead of a spurned lover. His cock began to firm feebly at the thought, even as bile rose in his throat and he wondered if Castus would taste it if Nasir kissed him.

Then the passion drained abruptly from him, and Nasir's shoulders slumped in defeat. 'Find yourself a fresh conquest, Castus,' he mumbled. 'I have nothing to offer.'

* * *

Crixus' fighters celebrated into the night, drunk on wine and victory. Agron sat some way apart from them, nursing a shallow cut on his shoulder, and so lost in his own thoughts that he did not notice the Undefeated Gaul himself approaching until Crixus sat down heavily at his side.

'Another battle well fought, brother,' the dark-haired man said, his voice huskier than usual from cheering.

'And another few hundred Romans rotting in the earth,' Agron replied, the usual flare of vicious delight sparking through him as he thought of the Romans he had killed in Duro's name.

Crixus nodded, gave a half smile. 'I was surprised you decided to join us,' he ventured. 'You and I have rare been friends, and I've scarce seen you from Spartacus' side.'

'I am loyal to Spartacus,' Agron said automatically. 'But...' He sighed, and his shoulders dropped. 'I fear we have not seen eye to eye for some time.'

'Gratitude for your company and for your sword, no matter the reason,' Crixus assured him. He hesitated for a moment. 'But what of your boy? You no longer see eye to eye with him, either?'

The mention of Nasir stabbed hard in Agron breast, sharper than the Roman sword that had cut him earlier. 'My heart still belongs to him,' he said heavily. 'And shall never belong to any other.'

'I inquire only to better understand,' Crixus said, staring out at the revelries, where Naevia stood roaring in celebration as she raised her cup to the sky. 'I could not conceive of being willingly parted in such a way.'

Agron was beginning to bristle, and it shone through in his voice as he responded. 'Naevia thirsts for battle and Roman blood. You two are of a kind, as am I. I have always fought, and always shall, until I am killed in this campaign. But Nasir came to discover war only when we thrust it upon him, and may still escape its clutches.'

'Is that his wish?'

'It fucking should be.'

Crixus was silent for a long time. At least he said, 'Never would I leave Naevia's side. But if she were to leave mine...' He shook his head, as though disturbed by the thought. 'I fear you may wound your boy in effort to shield him.'

'Hold fucking tongue, Gaul!' Agron snarled, snapping at last.

To his surprise and disappointment, Crixus did not rise to the confrontation. The leader merely sat for a moment longer, his face inscrutable. Then he stood and said, 'I leave you to your thoughts,' before walking away to rejoin his men.

The joy of battle now thoroughly dissipated, Agron clutched his misery tight to his chest. Nights he had lain awake, tormented by thoughts of Castus working his seduction upon Nasir until finally the beautiful Syrian fighter relented. Yet scoundrel and pirate he might be, Castus was not broken and brutish like Agron. He and Nasir were of a kind, and once relieved of charge by Spartacus, the two might yet find some life far away from blood and madness. Blood and madness was all that Agron could offer, and if he could suck out his poison from Nasir's veins by putting distance between them, then he was willing to bear any pain to do so. 

 


End file.
